by Robin Jarvis
And fill up our tankards once more.
Then we’ll plait sweet Dulcie’s hair.
And twine some bright daisies there.
Was there ever a cherry so ripesome or merry?
Kiss her once and thrice, then kiss her bare.
Bottom – oh, bottom, let’s drink to the bottom.
And fill up our tankards once more.”
Eun-mi was incensed. The men were not only singing, they were lurching around in a drunken circle, using the revered statue as a maypole. They had torn down one of the huge flags hanging above the tunnel entrances, ripped it into long, ragged ribbons and tied them round the bronze wrist of Kim Il-sung’s outstretched hand. This insult to the Eternal President was monstrous and unpardonable.
The girl yelled at the men in Korean and they staggered to a swaying halt as the jeep approached.
“Who’s this?” one cried in surprised amusement.
“More merry folk, come to join the revels!” another giggled. “Come ye, come ye – ’tis a joy to greet friends and neighbours this blessed morn.”
“Stop jeep!” Eun-mi snapped at Gerald.
“We don’t have time for this,” he warned her. “We shouldn’t get involved.”
Grunting in anger, she jumped from the moving vehicle and stormed over to the men. Glancing at their insignia, she saw that the highest rank was a sojwa, or major. The rest consisted of a jungwi, or first lieutenant, and three grunts.
“You are disgusting!” she raged at them. “Evil and weak!”
“’Tis the Jill of Spades!” another declared, seeing the playing card pinned to her uniform.
“I am the daughter of General Chung!” she announced proudly. “You dishonour the memory of our Supreme Leader’s grandfather.”
The men pulled faces and tittered.
“We don’t want to play them games in this dream no more,” the Major said.
“And we’re not speaking that funny sleep chatter neither. The grand old tongue of the Dawn Prince is good enough for us.”
“Stop pretending, princess. Come dance and drink with us. We’ll be waking up in Mooncot soon, with a hard day of toil in the fields ahead, so none of this matters. What’s it all about here anyway, eh? Why are our dream families starving and eating grass when them at the top are fatter than Old Edwin’s pig?”
“Do royal lips taste different, do you reckon?” another wondered aloud.
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve only ever kissed village maids, when the missus wasn’t looking.”
“How’s about it, princess? Give us a go, just this once.”
“Be real charity to the poor that would.”
“The deserving poor.”
“I’ll wager you’re keen to know if we taste sweet as honey-speeched princes, or savoury like a steak pie.”
“There’s plenty of meat in my pastry!”
“She can practise her charms on us. We don’t mind, do we, boys? We won’t tell nobody.”
“I’ve got a hatful of kisses going begging. The missus prefers her chickens to me.”
“Ah, you wouldn’t want his kisses to spoil now, like uncollected eggies, would you, Your Highness?”
Two men blundered forward and made a grab for her.
Gerald had stopped the jeep. Seeing her in danger, he took up a rifle. But Eun-mi could take care of herself.
She gave a controlled shout. Then, in one graceful movement, she spun round and her left foot cracked the nearest head. Her arm followed swiftly, delivering a sharp blow to the other man’s neck. Both of them tumbled over, gasping.
Without hesitation, the girl launched herself at the others. She dived among them and her limbs lashed out. The flat of her hands flew into astonished faces. Her heel felled one of them behind her, like a tree. A chop with her hand dropped another. Grabbing an empty bottle, the Major smashed the end and rushed at her. She ducked and flipped herself about, catching hold of his arm. Using his own momentum, she threw him forward. Then she jumped up and landed her foot in his stomach.
The man yelped and struggled for breath.
“You bring shame to that uniform!” she shouted in Korean. “You are a disgrace to the People’s Army!”
Angrily, she reached down and tore the star of rank from his shoulder.
“Get out! All of you!” she commanded. “Go run on the cold mountainside, like the rabbits you are.”
The men wavered and looked at one another. She could see they were preparing for a second attack. Their eyes exchanged their intent and they nodded to one another. The First Lieutenant had barely risen to his feet when Eun-mi slammed into him. The man was battered backwards. Each blow, each kick was punctuated by a sharp yell from her. She gave him no opportunity to retaliate, no window to strike out. She rained blow after blow on him and, when she finally stopped and struck a taut, poised stance, he fled through the main entrance.
Eun-mi turned to face the remaining four. The steely glint in her eyes was enough. Cowed, they knew they were beaten and they ran after him, into the bitter, wintry night.
Still seated in the jeep, Spencer’s mouth was hanging open.
“Er… like, woah,” he said. “That was so cool.”
The girl made no answer. Emitting a sharp blast of breath, she expelled the pent-up tension and her body relaxed. That had felt good. Then she gazed up at the long ragged strips tied about the statue’s wrist and her jaw tightened again. Moments later, Gerald and Spencer were watching her climb the bronze figure with the utmost care and respect.
“You weren’t wrong when you said she was scary,” Gerald muttered, getting back into the vehicle.
“Was that kung fu? It was awesome. I should have had some martial arts and Westerns crossover stuff in my DVD collection. I did have The Magnificent Seven – that’s a remake of a samurai thing. I love that movie, best theme tune ever. Even thought about shaving my head once, like Yul Brynner. After coming so close to it today with Doctor Choe, I don’t think I’ll bother.”
“It wasn’t kung fu,” Gerald told him. “I think we’ve just been treated to a glimpse of Juche Kyuksul, the martial art of the army here. I had no idea our Miss Chung was so skilled. She really is driven, isn’t she? Look at her shin up that statue. One minute she’s battering the living daylights out of five hefty blokes and the next she’s humble as a kitten – she’s apologising to that thing for clambering over it.”
They waited while the girl inched herself along the extended arm of Kim Il-sung to dutifully untie the torn strips of cloth. Once free, the wind claimed them and they whipped around the cavernous space, writhing and snaking in the air – like gymnasts’ streamers. Staring at the large bronze hand, Eun-mi caught her breath and stretched out her own to touch it, then drew back and rapidly returned to the ground.
Before rejoining the others, she laid the Major’s star at the statue’s feet as a token and sank to her knees, bowing her head till it touched the mosaic floor.
“Most beloved Eternal President of the Republic,” she murmured reverently. “This darkest day, the purity of the blood has been soiled. I, Chung Eun-mi, daughter of the People’s Army, pledge to do all in my power to restore the true order. I shall be a human rifle, a human bomb in your service, a dagger of your hand – to strike at the diseased heart of the Western enemy who has done this most terrible thing. This I swear, on my honour, on my life, on the memory of my noble father, General Chung Kang-dae.”
She stayed in that position for several minutes, then stood, bowed once more and returned to the jeep.
“Go,” she instructed.
“Anything you say,” Gerald replied.
“That was amazing what you did back there,” Spencer enthused. “Can you break bricks with your fist as well?”
“You want me to demonstrate with your head?” she asked.
“Bye-bye, Titipu!” Gerald called as they left the moonlit cavern, where the strips of red and blue cloth continued their serpentine waltz about the bronze statue.
; “Dandong merrily on high,” his voice sang out as the jeep passed into the tunnel leading to the munitions section.
Eun-mi glanced uneasily over her shoulder. The base was wide open and unguarded, its secrets and military might vulnerable to anyone. Her young features set hard and stern. Her duty was clear: it must not fall into the hands of an enemy nation. It was as if the voice of the Eternal President was speaking to her directly, making his will known.
The jeep bore deeper into the mountain. Deep black mouths of chambers and smaller passages sped by until the tunnel opened out around them and they were in a vast munitions store. Drums of fuel were stacked in high, orderly rows that formed wide avenues through pallets loaded with ordnance and rocket launchers. There were crates of grenades and explosives, shells of all sizes, and Spencer counted the outlines of over twenty tanks. There may have been more, but a regiment of towering missiles obscured the view. Neither he nor Gerald could guess at the size of this lethal stockpile. The torch’s beam didn’t reach to the furthest corners of this massive place and it took them almost fifteen minutes to drive from one side to the other. Gerald shook his head. There was enough here to mount a devastating attack on China. At least that was one war that had never happened, and now never would.
“Stop!” Eun-mi commanded sharply.
Gerald braked and the girl leaped out. She hurried back to where an abandoned guard hut stood against the rocky wall, and where an enormous metal screen covered a huge entrance.
The rusting barrier was held in place by two iron rails so that it could be slid aside. Eun-mi gave it an experimental shove. A boom and squeak of metal resounded through the vast arsenal. The barrier hardly budged.
She called the others over and together they heaved and pushed the screen over the rails. Thunderous clangs and grating squeals echoed in the darkness around them. When there was enough clearance to get the jeep through, even though the barrier was still not even halfway across the opening, they stopped and caught their breath.
“That’s the secret way into China?” Gerald asked. “How far does it go?”
Eun-mi didn’t bother to reply. She returned to the jeep and took out another torch.
“You stay,” she ordered. “You wait.”
“Where are you going?” the old man demanded as she ran back the way they had come, down the avenue of oil drums.
“What’s she up to?” Spencer asked.
“I’ve no idea. But I don’t trust that girl one bit. Let’s get back in the car and be ready.”
Gerald reversed the jeep and turned it towards the secret way. Then they waited. After several minutes, he switched off the engine. What was that girl doing? They stared into the immense dark space. Every now and then they could see a faint glimmer of torchlight in the distance, when it caught the curves of a standing missile, or when its feeble beam angled upwards.
“Must be half an hour now,” Spencer grumbled.
“More than that,” Gerald reckoned.
“You sure we need her?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“But won’t everyone in China speak English now because of DJ?”
“We can’t bank on that. What the hell is she up to?”
Ten minutes later, they saw the torchlight bounce frantically into view as Eun-mi came racing back.
“About time!” Gerald called.
“Start jeep!” she shouted as she ran towards them. “Start jeep!”
Gerald didn’t like the fearful urgency in her voice. He obeyed hurriedly.
The girl rushed up and threw a canvas satchel on to the heap of supplies on the back seat next to Spencer. One of the straps wasn’t buckled properly and a grenade rolled out.
“Ruddy hell!” the boy cried in alarm.
“Get out of driving seat!” Eun-mi was yelling at Gerald. “I drive now.”
“What?” Gerald asked in annoyance. “Just get in.”
“You drive like old woman!”
“Oh, you have no idea!” he replied with an ironic laugh.
Eun-mi pulled out her gun. “I drive!” she insisted.
Gerald slid across to the other seat.
“A gun really isn’t a substitute for the word ‘please’, young lady,” he admonished her.
The girl wasn’t listening. She looked quickly, and anxiously, over her shoulder then pressed her foot down. Spencer almost lost his Stetson. The jeep went screeching into the secret way and Gerald realised what she had done.
“No!” he exclaimed in horrified disbelief. “Even you’re not that mad!”
Eun-mi was too busy concentrating on the way ahead to answer. The jeep hurtled through the deep dark at breakneck speed. She put her faith in the protection of the Eternal President that it would be fast enough.
In the back seat, Spencer had his work cut out, keeping hold of his hat while trying to stop more grenades bumping out of the satchel as the jeep careered recklessly along.
“Slow down!” he yelled.
And then he felt and heard the first explosion. It was immediately followed by another and another – then an even greater rumble that shook the very air. Spencer tried to cover his ears, but the blasts thumped inside his chest and there was no escape from them.
Suddenly the darkness lifted and an angry glare banished the shadows, followed by a wave of heat. Spencer turned and his glasses became mirrors for an inferno. The munitions store was in violent eruption.
“Faster! Go faster!” he screamed at Eun-mi.
The girl couldn’t make the jeep go any faster. It was already difficult to control and, up ahead, she saw the underground road turned a tight corner. There was no chance they’d negotiate that bend at this speed. She would have to slow right down or crash into the curving wall.
Behind them, the firestorm roared through the half-open barrier and came raging down the tunnel.
“We’re not going to make it!” Spencer wailed.
Gerald closed his eyes and, in the midst of that deafening tumult, heard Evelyn’s voice berating him.
Above them, the entire mountain shook. The helipads buckled then collapsed as the labyrinth of excavated tunnels were destroyed in a chain reaction that engulfed the intercontinental missiles in their silos. Terraces went crashing down the crumbling slopes and fissures were torn open. Jets of white flame pierced the winter night. Missiles launched and sliced the sky with searing trails, only to detonate high in the atmosphere, go spiralling into the sea or set the surrounding forests aflame. The fulminating fury turned the night into day. It could be seen as far away as Russia and Japan and the tremors were felt deep into China.
13
7.30am, 20th December, Toronto
THE WINDS BLUSTERING around the top of the CN Tower tore at the velvet tails of the Ismus’s short jacket and his mane of black hair streamed about his pale face. He was standing over the roof of the revolving 360 Restaurant, 356 metres above the ground – a sickening height with, quite literally, breathtaking views across the city and Lake Ontario. The tops of skyscrapers were far below and the sun was rising dim and watery and insignificant on the horizon. He appeared to be striding out of the dawn sky.
The tower’s EdgeWalk attraction, the highest full-circle, hands-free walk round a building, was a striking way to create an immediate impression when the satellites beamed these images to the watching world. Even with the safety harness tethering him to an overhead rail, it was still a feat of great daring at this time of year in those gusting winds, and a brilliant way for the broadcast to commence. The cameraman wouldn’t venture out on to the metal grating that was no wider than an average pavement. There was no safety barrier, just a sheer drop, so he leaned out of the main pod as far as he could stomach and, even though he too was attached to the rail and believed this to be only a dream, it was still terrifying.
“Your Royal Highnesses,” the Ismus began, shouting above the gale, “Under Kings and Under Queens, Jacks and Jills, lords and ladies, knights and pages, kitchen maids and cooks, honest sal
ts of Mooncot, not forgetting the little boys and girls. Each one of my dear, devoted, loving and, dare I say, lickable subjects around this nonsensical dream world, congregate before your goggle-boxes and bend your ears my way, for I bring you gladsome tidings.”
The cameraman backed further inside and the Ismus followed, the familiar crooked smile broader than ever as he unclipped the harness.
This important broadcast had been trailed across every media format since the beginning of November. Social networks had gone into meltdown with frenzied speculation over what it might concern and the international press clamoured for interviews from the Holy Enchanter and hounded every prime member of his Court. But not even the sly Jill of Spades would reveal any details, although that was only because she didn’t know any. The Ismus had smirked at the frantic journalists and bid them a good day for when they next awakened back in Mooncaster. It was maddening. They were gasping for news.
The widespread rumour was that the announcement would pertain to the book he was writing. Just what was Fighting Pax?
The world was desperate for the smallest scrap of information. Even those politicians who still played out their pointless dream lives in government had abandoned the pretence of attending to state business. Instead they indulged in fanciful guesswork inside their parliaments and senate houses. Such was the level of hype about this mysterious broadcast. As the weeks dragged on, the anticipation became excruciatingly intense. Everyone on the planet who had access to a television or the Internet was guaranteed to be glued to this live transmission.
At last the long-awaited hour arrived. Factories and offices ceased production and workers crowded before the large TVs hired specifically for this one event. The thousands who had abandoned the cities to live a simpler, medieval sort of existence scrambled hastily to find their way back to technology. In other parts of the world, populations roused themselves from sleep and tuned in. Huge outdoor screens had been set up in the more remote regions of the planet, and whole villages and tribes traversed desert, jungle, forest, savannah and Siberian tundra to view this vital address from their revered leader. Clutching their copies of Dancing Jax, they congregated in their multitudes, falling to their knees when the broadcast began.